


Even Better

by Melina



Category: Highlander, Highlander: The Raven
Genre: Coming of Age, Gen, hl, hl:raven, minor characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-07-20
Updated: 2000-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-02 00:38:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melina/pseuds/Melina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up immortal sure isn't easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Better

**Author's Note:**

> This story is from the perspective of Michelle Webster from the season 3 episode Rite of Passage. If you haven't seen the episode, I've no idea whether the story will make any sense or not.
> 
> Thanks to Ellen, MacGeorge and Suze for their assistance and advice!

The train starts to move with a jolt, waking me from my restless doze. I turn over, trying to get comfortable. Trains are not good places to sleep, but even if I were in a king-size bed at the Ritz, I'm not sure I could sleep. Electricity is still racing through my body, skittering across sensitive nerves. I feel hyper-aware of every sound, every smell, every touch. I guess that's what Quickenings do to you. Before tonight, I didn't know. I've been Immortal almost five years, but before tonight, I'd never done it. Never taken someone's head.

~~~~~~~

You wake up from being dead, and you're the same. But it doesn't take long to figure out that being an Immortal pretty much changes everything. In the past five years, my entire life has changed -- from what it was and from anything I thought it could possibly be. Since October 24, 1994 -- the day I died the first time -- I've left the only life I knew behind, and I've built an entirely new life, one I'm pretty damned happy with most of the time.

And I've changed plenty along the way. Grown up a little. Learned how to take care of myself. How to defend myself, too. I don't feel intimidated anymore if some jerk on the street leers at me...because if he gets a little too close, I know about half a dozen ways to dump his ass on the sidewalk.

I was a pretty horrible brat before I died. (That still sounds weird...only Immortals get to talk about "before I died.") But I was a brat. I left my adoptive parents a total mess, their last memory of their dead kid was how they hadn't been able to communicate, didn't know how to get through to her. I screwed up my first life pretty bad, especially at the end, and I was determined not to do it again. So once Duncan saved my sorry ass and took me to Amanda, my teacher, I was determined not to do things differently. (I find different ways to screw up, don't worry about it.)

Amanda...well, she's just great, okay? At first I couldn't believe she was over a thousand. That just blew my mind. Over a _thousand_ years old. She's spent ninety percent of her life in ways that just seem amazingly backward to a brat like me who grew up with microwave ovens and MTV. But she's always kept with the times, always kept a great outlook. She taught me more in nine months then I learned in eighteen years of school. She's tough, but totally fair.

And you know, I wanted to do right by her, at first just because I wanted to do right by Duncan and then just for her, because she gave me so much of her time and what she knew. Not just swords, although we spent _lots_ of time with swords, trust me. But other ways to survive, too; how to escape if you can't win, how to use whatever weapons you have -- a car key in the eye might not kill an Immortal, but it will really slow him down.

We talked, too. A lot. About my parents and being Immortal. She told me about her teacher, Rebecca. And when I left for college in the fall, she had tears in her eyes when she gave me a sword. She said it was Rebecca's sword, and that I had to treat it with honor because Rebecca had been a great lady. And I cried, too, before I got on the airplane for New York.

It took a long time to convince Amanda that college in New York was a good idea. Too many Immortals in such a big city, she'd said, way too dangerous. If I wanted to study theater, couldn't I do it in a nice place in upstate New York? Well, maybe I could have, but not after NYU let me in. Not on the basis of my fake high school transcripts in my fake last name (it's Wilson), but on the basis of an audition down in San Francisco. Amanda indulged me in that just because it was a great excuse to go visit San Francisco! Neither of us expected that they'd really let me in, but once they did -- with a half-scholarship, incidentally -- there was no talking me out of it.

So Amanda hemmed and hawed and thought for awhile, then she got out her phone book and made about two zillion phone calls. A few hours later, she finally looked at me and smiled, and said it was cool to go to New York, there was someone there she trusted who'd keep an eye out and help me with my sword stuff. I shrugged, whatever, Amanda, as long as you're happy, and I can go. So when I got on the plane she told me my new teacher would meet me at the airport, and oh, by the way, his name is Connor.

What she didn't bother to tell me was that his last name was MacLeod, and that he makes his "cousin" Duncan look like a party animal by comparison. I don't think he smiled for the first six months. Connor really had me freaked out for awhile. He took the whole teacher thing way seriously. Five or six days a week we practiced, it didn't matter what excuse I came up with, midterms, auditions, forget it. We practiced, and I ended up on my butt a lot, but I learned a lot, too. I showed Amanda a few new things when she visited at Christmas. She came to see me in a play just before finals, but stayed the whole two weeks.

That was the only time Amanda ever saw me in a play, because that spring I discovered directing, and I decided it was far cooler to be the one telling everyone on stage what to do instead of being one of the ones getting told what to do.

I told Connor I was changing my major from acting to directing, and he just laughed. One of the first times I saw him laugh, I think. "Heh-heh-heh," he grinned. "Your naturally bossy nature shining through, Michelle," he said in that charming-but-weird accent of his. I got all huffy and denied I was bossy, but shit, it's sort of like denying the sky is blue or the grass is green. I am bossy. But when it comes to bossing people on stage, I've become damn good at being bossy. I'd never worked so hard at any one thing before as I was suddenly working at two things -- practice with Connor and directing whatever, whoever, would let me direct them. And it more or less kept up that way through my sophomore and junior years.

When the chance to go study theater for the summer in London came up, I jumped at it, I pretty much begged Connor. I guess I could've gone no matter what he or Amanda said, but I owed them too much. At least for a while longer, I'd do like they said. So I was pretty surprised when Connor agreed it was cool. I thought he'd find me another temporary teacher in London, but he didn't. "You're ready to be on your own now, Michelle," he said.

Suddenly, I was sorta scared. I didn't feel ready. What if I was challenged? "Then you'll do what you need to do, lass," he said. "You've had good training, and you've worked hard. You didn't plan on having a teacher in every city for the rest of your life, did you?" He wasn't mean, but still, it felt scary. But I didn't want him to know that, not after all the time he and Amanda'd spent teaching me. So when June rolled around, I smiled and tried not to cry when he and Rachel took me to the airport.

And you know what? I had a completely bitchin' summer in London. Six weeks of doing and talking theater with the best and brightest English-speaking theater actors on the entire planet. Living in another country, hanging out with theater majors from all over...it was just awesome. And after it was over, I had a month before I had to show up for my senior year, so I shipped home most of my crap, dumped the rest in a backpack big enough to hold my sword, along with some T-shirts and a map, and took the Eurotrain under the channel to Brussels. And from there I went all over… Germany and France and Italy and Spain. I didn't feel like going to big cities, I'd been in the biggest of big cities almost nonstop for three years, so I'd get off the train in smaller towns, rent a bike or a scooter, and see whatever there was to see. I skipped Madrid and Rome, but I went to lots of cool tiny places most people don't bother with. Sometimes I'd travel days on my own, then I'd meet up with other backpackers and hang with them for awhile, then trade e-mail addresses and be off on my own again.

And it was great. I was in Austria, and I had ten days left, and I was almost ready to go home. My plane ticket was from London, so I started to make my way back toward a big city, like Munich, so I could catch the train to take me to the chunnel train.

I almost made it, too. I was sitting in a little restaurant near the train station, munching and passing time, when for the first time since I left Connor, I felt another Immortal. It didn't take me long to spot the guy…he was standing across the street on the corner. He was youngish looking, good looking, too, but not friendly. Not at all.

He must've thought I was an easy target. He approached, and he challenged me. It sort of felt like a dream for the first few minutes, as I got my pack, and we walked about a block to a deserted area behind the train station. I knew that this was _it_, that this was totally real, that I was going to have to fight, not for practice, but for my life. Though I was realizing such an important thing, my brain was totally numb.

Maybe that's why they made me train so hard. Do the same damned thing over and over and over until I could do it in my sleep...until sometimes I'd wake up in the middle of the night, pretty sure I had been doing it in my sleep. So that even when your brain's numb, the rest of you still works.

So, to make a long story short? I'm still here, and Jerkface "let's challenge the kid, she looks easy" isn't around anymore. The fight wasn't even really that scary. I'd practiced, and this was what it was for. Except for the guy not being Connor or Amanda, it wasn't that different. I did what they taught me --I used my speed and agility to make up for what I didn't have in pure strength. And you know what? It worked, because this guy was too strong for his own good. He thought he had me when I was right in front of him, and it was so easy to just step out of the way -- but he'd already committed, and he went down hard, and I just did it. I stomped on his sword-hand and brought my own blade down to cut off his head. My stroke was strong enough, because Amanda had made me practice that, too, with a dummy we named Herb. Herb the headless dummy.

But what I couldn't prepare for, couldn't practice for, was the Quickening. I'd seen Duncan go through it before, but that was it, and watching it and experiencing it just aren't the same. There's no way to describe it. It's like dying and being completely alive at the same time, like being bathed in cool water and being burned with acid in the same moment. It was scary and wonderful, but when it was over, I knew I had to get the hell out of there. So I did, onto the train, slightly freaking because I could feel the new presence inside me. I tried hard to stay calm, to choke down the feelings and the fear. But it was too much, and even after my summer as Independent Immortal Chick of the 90's, for the first time in quite a while I felt like I really needed to talk to Amanda. I needed someone to tell me how to feel about this whole thing – the killing, the feeling inside me, everything.

Thank God for international calling cards. A call to Lucy in Toronto -- keeping the fact that I was freaking out from her was _so_ not easy, but it was totally necessary -- and I found out that Amanda was just an overnight train trip away, in Paris. Okay. So I was on my way to Paris and my teacher.

~~~~~~~

I wake up just as the train is pulling into the Gare du Nord. Well, I sorta wake up. I don't feel like I ever really slept, and my brain still feels like it's churning overtime.

Okay. So I grab my stuff, and after a quick stop in the glamorous train station bathroom to make myself somewhat less scary to innocent bystanders, I find le taxi in front of le train station and give the driver the address Lucy'd given me. I think I sorta doze again, because the next thing I remember, the taxi driver is telling me, "Ici, Mademoiselle." I guess that means we're here. Okay. I give some sort of cheerfully colored Euromoney and hop out.

I check the building against the address I'd scribbled. Yup, this is it. It seems that my old schoolmarm (not!) is living above a bar. How cool. That is i&gt;so Amanda. For the first time since Jerkface showed up, I smile, then wander inside. I feel just a whisper of Immortal presence, and my smile grows, I am so glad Amanda is here. I don't see her, though. But how could I miss him....

"Hi, can I help you?" he asks. Oh, my, yes, you can help me anytime you feel like it. What awesome eyes. Like I said though, I've grown up and actually manage to keep my cool and answer his question. Sort of.

"Uh, hi. Is Amanda here?" Well, not a great start. I know she's here, I felt her. "I mean, can you let her know I'm here? I'm--" I stop because the prickly feeling suddenly intensifies...

"Michelle!" Amanda appears -- oh my God, she's very blonde -- relaxing the sword she'd carried with her, and she's hugging me so tight I can hardly breathe. "What are you doing here? I thought you were in London? Is everything okay?"

I smile at her and then answer, "Yeah, I was just traveling around a while after the program ended. Just wanted to see you before I left. Cool hair," I add. She narrows her eyes, noticing I didn't answer the "is everything okay" question. "So, who's your friend?" I ask, with just enough of a touch of mischief in my voice for her (and hopefully only her) to recognize. She raises an eyebrow.

The friend is watching us with a slightly bemused look on his face. "Hi, I'm Nick."

Amanda takes over in her Amanda-like way. "Nick, this is my very dear friend Michelle." It's so cool of her to introduce me like that, like I'm her equal and everything.

"I guess she's..." he pauses, eyeing the sword in Amanda's hand, a twin to my own. I guess he knows. Hmm...I guess this must be the New Man In Amanda's Life. She wouldn't tell just anybody. She nods.

"Hi," I finally answer. "It's really nice to meet you."

"You too, Michelle. Welcome to Paris." He sounds friendly enough, but a little suspicious. "Staying long?" he adds casually.

"Nope, gotta be back at school in a few weeks."

Yeah, he's suspicious. He seems relieved. "What do you study?" he asks.

"Directing...theater," I look from him back to Amanda. I'm wondering how to ask her if we can go and talk. He's cute, but what I need to say, he doesn't need to hear. I guess she gets it.

"Why don't we take a walk, Michelle? Get a nice cup of café au lait. Just leave your stuff, we'll deal with it later." She smiles at Nick. "Back in a bit."

He nods, wishing us a nice walk before going back to the papers he was reading. Amanda links her arm through mine, and we go back out into the warm midmorning sunshine.

"Don't mind him," she begins. "Another Immortal showing up has generally not been a positive sign as far as Nick's concerned."

"What's the deal?" I'm so curious. "He's awesome, Amanda."

She smiles, "Yeah, he is pretty awesome. I'm not sure what the deal is. Long story."

She tells me a little about him as we walk down the riverbank. It's not long before we arrive at a little café. We sit, and Amanda orders stuff in French. I'm sort of oblivious, still pretty wasted from everything and the bad night on the train.

The coffees arrive, and Amanda finally looks over at me. "So, what's up?" She's trying to keep her voice totally normal. Sorry, Teach, I can tell you're worried. Man, I must look like shit. Perfect.

I take a deep breath, looking around, careful to keep my voice low. "I was challenged last night. Took a head." It sounds so totally weird saying that out loud.

Amanda's eyes widen a bit, and she reaches for my hand and squeezes it. "Tell me what happened."

So I do, I tell her the whole story. Telling her about the fight is easy enough, and she smiles a bit; I can tell she's proud. That's cool, I want to make her proud, you know? It's talking about the Quickening that's weird. I don't know how to describe it.

"I know what you mean, there is no way to describe it," she says softly. "It's the strangest thing. Overwhelmingly wonderful and completely nauseating at the same time."

I nod. I can't help it, a few tears leak from the edges of my eyes. I didn't want to do this, to cry like a baby, and I don't even know why I'm doing it. I guess it's a relief to know I'm not totally crazy.

"Michelle," I look up to see Amanda smiling at me "Michelle, you did great. All the hard work, it paid off." She leans over and wipes a tear away. "And you were much braver than I was the first time I was challenged," she adds quietly.

"Yeah, right," I snort.

"I'm serious. You were." She's told me a lot of stories about Rebecca, but she's never told me this one before. About how she ran back to the cloister, terrified, when she was being stalked by another Immortal. I listen, half-shaking my head. It's so hard for me to picture Amanda that way. "Choose your ground, choose your weapon, and face what is to come," she finishes, repeating her teacher's words.

"And you did."

"I did, but it took Rebecca tossing me out on my ass to do it."

"Not like I had much choice."

"No. None of us do, really. You can run for awhile but unless you plan to make Holy Ground your permanent home--" she smiles as I wrinkle my face at that, "--none of us really do. You can run for awhile, but not forever. And being scared all the time is the worst." She smiles brightly, shaking off the serious mood, reaching over to hug me again. "But you did great, babe. I'm so proud of you. Rebecca would be proud to know a woman like you had her sword."

"I'm sorry I never knew her."

"Me, too, sweetie. But I think you and I should do what Rebecca and I would have done when we had something to celebrate." I raise my eyebrows. "Let's go get pampered a little, hmm? A massage, get our hair done, manicures..."

After a few weeks on the road, I'm seriously into that. She's talking nonstop about this spa as she drops some money on the table, and we head off to experience Parisian pampering.

A woman like me. I like the sound of that.

~~~~~~~

A few mornings later, I'm hanging out in the club, browsing through an English-language newspaper and drinking coffee. I feel Amanda as she breezes in and look up to smile at her. "Morning, Teach."

"Morning, Shelly."

I frown, sort of. Okay. She hates Teach as much as I hate Shelly, but it's become a kind of mutually annoying custom. She sits with her own coffee. "What have you got going on today?" she asks.

"Not much. I thought I'd go look around Paris later, maybe visit Father Liam again." I really don't care much what I do. Just being here is nice, hanging out with Amanda and Nick. I like the people I've met here, too. Amanda introduced me to this Immortal priest who turned out to be so cool.

"Why don't you go see Duncan?" she asks.

I choke and try not to spit out my coffee. "Duncan? Duncan who?" Nice try.

She looks at me knowingly. "Duncan MacLeod? Tall, dark, and honorable? Ring any bells?"

"He's here?" I'd heard from somebody he lived in Paris, but he was supposed to be here in the winter, not the summer.

She nods. "His barge is up by the Eiffel Tower. He...he lives here pretty much full-time now. He sold the place in Seacouver."

I blink. I had no clue. I haven't seen Duncan since the day I met Amanda, almost five years ago. I haven't wanted to, for godssake. I was such an idiotic, sex-crazed twit the last time I saw him. I cringe at the memories. Ignoring everything he told me to do, for one thing, and that was the least of it. It was much worse. I remember pawing him in the dojo, crawling into his bed wearing almost nothing...I remember him in that black T-shirt, his hair all loose around his neck, the intensity in his eyes when his sword was at my throat...oh, God, there's just _no way_ can I go see Duncan MacLeod. Preferably ever. It's a big planet. I can avoid him.

"Amanda, I was such a pain in the ass," I plead. "I really don't think he wants to be reminded of what a hassle I was."

She smiles. "It wasn't a big deal, Michelle. You were…" she pauses, "okay, a small handful, but certainly one Duncan could handle."

"It's not a good idea."

"Yes, it is." Her voice is more serious, quieter, and I lift my eyes up to look at her. "Michelle...Duncan's had a rough time the last few years. It would do him a lot of good to see someone whose life he touched doing as well as you are."

I'm still thinking about what she just said. "What do you mean? What kind of rough time?"

"There've been changes in his life, and he's lost some very close friends. A student, too," she added.

Shit. It must have been the redheaded guy in the picture with the dead girlfriend. Poor Duncan. He's too nice a guy for the people he cares about to keep dying on him.

I'm wavering. I owe Duncan a lot. Everything. Duncan had known my family since I was eleven. He hung around all those years because he knew about me. What would have happened to me if Duncan hadn't known what I was, if he hadn't been there when I died? It probably would've been Axel who found me, or maybe even someone worse. I'd be dead already.

Amanda's waiting, looking at me quietly, like she can see the gears turning. Okay. I've grown up, right? I can do this. I swallow down my embarrassment, my fear. "So, where did you say he lived? On a boat?"

Amanda smiles at me. "Yeah, on a boat."

~~~~~~~

I meander down the sidewalk slowly, torn between wanting to just get there and get this over with and wanting to run, run screaming in any other direction.

Oh, God. I thought I could do this. But I was such an idiot in front of him! Oh, God, I can just imagine what he thinks of me...an oversexed, spoiled, dumber-than-sand baby Immortal. Oh, God. Why, why, why was I so stupid? I did everything but rip my clothes off and say, "Take me, baby, I'm yours."

Wait. I practically did that, too, didn't I? Maybe I can just go back to the club. I'll have plenty of time to think up a good story for Amanda.

Shit. I can't do that. Amanda would see right through it. And I don't want to lie to her, anyway. She deserves better.

Shit. Duncan deserves way better than the crap I gave him, too. I suck in a deep breath. Okay. That's better. Maybe I can make it up to him, somehow.

But not if I avoid him forever. Okay. I can see it, that must be his place. "A long, flat, ugly barge, just down river from the Pont d'Alma," Amanda'd said. She said he used to moor the barge near Ile St. Louis, much closer to Father Liam's church and Amanda's new place.

I wonder why he moved.

I stop about fifty feet away when a dizzying rush of presence invades my senses. He's home. Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. Breathe. Like Connor taught, from deep in the stomach. Okay. Up the ramp thing...down the little stairway. The door's open, and I walk down a few more stairs, looking around.

The first thing I see when my eyes start to adjust to the dim interior is the sword. I stop and blink a few times. He recognizes me and lowers the sword.

"Michelle?"

"Hi, Duncan." Okay. That was good. I didn't stammer or anything.

"Michelle..." he says again. God, he looks different, but still gorgeous. His hair is short now, and he seems...slimmer, somehow. Not that he was ever fat, but his muscles, visible through a white t-shirt, are more compact than they were when I saw him last. He used to look like a hero taken from the pages of a fantasy; now he looks like Bond, James Bond.

I can live with that.

"...it's good to see you," he's saying. "This is...Adam Pierson. A friend of mine. Adam... Michelle Webster."

Good scouting there, Michelle. I didn't even notice the other guy until Duncan gestured in his direction. His blade -- an enormous broadsword -- is now resting at his side. Oh, yeah, pretty good, Michelle. You turn into a blithering idiot at the sight of a cute -- ok, more than cute -- guy, and this other one could've taken your head while you were drooling.

Now that I look at him, this other guy is pretty droolable himself. "Hello, Michelle," he says. Duncan may look like James Bond, but this guy sounds like it. "Any friend of Duncan's." He glances over, catching Duncan's eye. Whoops. Why do I feel like I just interrupted something? Shit. Perfect.

And what is it I interrupted, anyway?

"Adam. I…" Duncan starts.

Adam interrupts, "I should go, MacLeod." Turning toward the door, he adds, "Nice to meet you, Michelle."

"You too," I reply.

"Adam..." Duncan says again. "Chess? Later?"

Adam smiles, sort of, just the slightest twitch of his lip, really. "Yeah, chess, later."

Duncan gives the same sort-of smile back, and Adam leaves.

I look at Duncan, hoping I haven't blown it already. "I should've called...I hope I didn't interrupt..."

Duncan shakes off my concerns. "Nope. We...we were just having a long-overdue conversation, but I think we said as much as we needed to." He looks at me as if really seeing me for the first time since I walked in, and I try really hard not to melt into a puddle of goop under his gaze. "I'm really glad to see you, Michelle, you look great."

I do? How can I look great when I feel like a congealed puddle of goop?

"Can I get you something? How about iced tea?" He's already up and moving before I can decline...though why the hell would I want to decline, my mouth feels like sandpaper.

Our fingers brush as he hands me the glass, and I try really hard not to shiver. Jesus, this sucks. Duncan MacLeod is the only guy I've ever offered myself to who's turned me down, and he's the one I've been in love with since I was eleven years old.

"...what brings you to Paris?" He's been talking while I've been off in another world. Great way to impress a man...ignore him!

"Uh, I'm on my way home. I was studying in London over the summer, and I had some time before I was due back at school, so I thought I would travel a little, see Europe, and I called Lucy, and she told me Amanda was here, and I wanted to see her, so..." I'm babbling. Sentences, Michelle. Sentences are your friend.

I must make some sort of sense, because he's nodding. "Connor told me you were living in New York. I think we must have just missed each other at spring break, during your freshman year. I was in the city for a few days."

"Really? Wow. Connor never said you were there."

He smiles. "Well, social talk never has been a big thing for Connor."

I can't help it, I snicker, and he grins at me. "But he does talk about his students, and he said you were very promising."

"You're kidding." Me, promising, according to Connor? "Are you sure we're talking about the same Connor? Bright blue eyes, funny accent, bad wardrobe?"

He laughs. "He doesn't give praise easily, believe me, I know. But he did have good things to say about you, and so has Amanda."

"What's up with you and Amanda?" Shit, I shouldn't have said that, it's so none of my business.

He takes it okay, though. "Amanda and I are the best of friends, and we care about each other very much," he said slowly. "But we're not always...together. She has someone in her life right now, and I respect that, so I give her space."

"But...can't you be around...just as a friend? Come by and stuff?"

He shrugs. "We do talk, and we see each other sometimes, but...I know from experience that it's not easy to have a relationship with a mortal with other Immortals around."

Especially ones you've been lovers with. Okay. I can see that.

"So..." he says. "Want to show me what Connor's been teaching you?"

I blink. "Huh?"

"Work out, Michelle. I belong to a little fencing academy close by."

"Uh...I don't think that's a good idea. I'm rusty. I haven't practiced since I left London." Well, except for cutting that guy's head off in Salzburg, does that count as practice?

"All the more reason."

I guess he had a point. "Sure, okay." Wow, that sounded wildly enthusiastic. He smiles at me, and the smile's almost enough to make me glad I accepted.

~~~~~~~

"Ooof!" I go down like a sack of potatoes and sigh, demoralized. How does a guy Duncan's size move so damn fast, anyway?

He gives me a hand up, smiling. "Your speed is a great asset, but if you anticipate your opponent's next move incorrectly, it can be used against you."

I take a deep breath, shoving my annoyance and embarrassment away. "Show me," I demand, and he does. We start moving around the large studio in the Salle d'Arms. It's one of their private workout rooms, and it's perfect. Two of the walls are mirrored, and there are a couple of benches for our stuff, but otherwise, it's just a big, empty workout space.

"I've recognized that you move really quickly," he says, circling me again. God, he moves like -- I don't even know what to compare him to. Like a huge cat. I try to shove down my reaction to his gorgeous bod and focus on the very lethal katana pointed in my direction. "So I'm intentionally trying to mislead you about where I'm going next," he continues. "If I prepare for an upper cut--"

Following the direction I think he's going to move, I start to duck out of the way. "But if I'm really going to your other side, you're off balance," he adds, demonstrating. His ankle whips out and catches mine, and I'm on my ass again, the tip of his sword pointed at my throat. _Shit._

"I have to anticipate, Duncan! I can't afford to wait. If someone your size and strength gets in close, I'm dead."

He reaches for my hand and pulls me up again. "Not necessarily -- don't forget your knees and legs," he smiles, and I raise my eyebrows. "We're not practicing that!" he barks, and I can't help but giggle a little.

We start to circle again. "This time, watch where my legs are going, not my arms. It's a better indication of where I'm really going to go." He does the same move again, but this time, even when his arms lift for the cut in one direction, the way he shifts his weight is like a telegram to me that he's really going in the other, and I successfully duck away from his trip.

He smiles. "See? Piece of cake." We continue the pass, and this time it's my feint that works. I bring my blade across my chest, and when he moves to parry, my foot kicks out toward his stomach in a wide arc, hard enough to knock him down.

This time, I reach for his hand as he coughs a bit. "Sorry," I smile.

He looks at me as if he doesn't believe it for a moment. "Good move, Michelle, but did you have to kick quite so hard?" He looks at me ruefully. "I think that's enough for one day." He tosses me a towel, and I wipe off some of the sweat, glancing in the mirror. I look like a hag on a bad day. I glance over at Duncan. Damn, why does he have to look good _sweating_?

"Where'd you learn that?" he asks, meaning the kickboxing move.

I shrug. "I started a kickboxing class last year. Taking _just_ Aikido and Tai Chi was getting boring, I had nothing to do from 6-7 am two days a week!"

He laughs. "I take it those were Connor's idea?"

I nod. We collect our things and start heading out, dropping our towels in a bin as Duncan waves to the desk attendant.

Once we're out on the street, he asks, "Seriously, with all that Connor was having you do, why take on something else?"

I shrug again. "I'm never going to be as strong in my shoulders or chest as someone your size, or have as much power in my arms," I answer. "So I wanted to start learning to make up for it."

We cross the street near the military academy, cutting through the Parc du Champ de Mars on the way back to the barge. "It's hot. Want an ice cream?" Duncan asks.

"Sure," I grin, and he smiles back, stopping at a vendor on the corner. He brings back two ice cream bars, which are frozen at first but start to quickly melt in the heat of an August afternoon in Paris.

"Eeek!" I'm trying, without much success, not to drip all over everything.

He laughs. "Here, why don't we sit and finish these, it'll be easier." We find a bench under a shady tree. This is much better.

Duncan is leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, letting the melting ice cream drip on the ground instead of his clothes. He glances over his shoulder at me and smiles. He reaches toward me with a napkin, brushing a bit of ice cream from my nose. God, my heart is thumping again. I think he senses it and takes his hand away.

"Michelle..."

"Duncan..."

We interrupt each other, then laugh. "I'm glad you came by, Michelle," he says.

"Really?" It slips out before I really think about it, a little squeak of a word.

He looks at me as if he's not sure what to make of that. "Of course. It's always good to hear how you're doing from Amanda or Connor, but it's much better to see it for myself. To see the woman you've become. Not to mention the kickass Immortal."

I smile at that, but my earlier feelings are still so there. "I wasn't sure you'd want to see me again. I was _such_ a pain in the ass..."

He smiles. "It was a lot to take in all at once, a lot of feelings to cope with."

"Yeah, well, I coped like an idiot." I look down at the ground, but his fingers lift my chin to meet his eyes. I could have been talking about any of a hundred stupid things I did and said over those few days, but he knows exactly what I'm talking about...oh, God.

He just looks at me for a few seconds, and I'm mostly wondering if there's any way to get out of this without turning into a puddle right in front of him.

"It wasn't because you weren't beautiful, Michelle."

I just blink at him, my lips move but no sounds manage to come through. "I...know. Well, sorta..." I stammer. One part of me knows. The other part, that part's still not sure. I take a deep breath. "I know...I was too young, that you thought I was too vulnerable."

"But?" he prompts.

"But...I guess before, I thought you'd liked me, at least a little. And then after, I...after the accident, when you told me what I was, I thought that's the only reason you'd been keeping in touch all those years."

He nods. "That was part of it. But I did like you, you know, and care about you. Even though you were going through a rough patch with your parents, I knew..."

"Knew what? Knew that I'd become Immortal?"

"Yeah, I knew that," he smiles. "But I also knew that you'd become an extraordinary young woman. One your parents would be proud of. Even more proud than they were of that little girl I first met, if that's possible."

My throat feels like a vise, it's so tight. I can't say anything. A tear slips down my face, and I quickly brush it away, but I know he's seen it. I take a deep breath. "I've had a crush on you since I was twelve," I squeak.

He smiles at that, but doesn't look surprised, not at all. "I'm honored, Michelle. And it definitely wasn't because you weren't beautiful. But a lover wasn't what you needed." He leans over and kisses my cheek. A real kiss, not a fake French kiss. Not a real kiss as in on my mouth, but real as in full of caring. I look into his eyes, and there's so _much_ there. He's a caring friend, trying to be my elder, the wise, experienced one...but something's let him open up just a bit, and I can see behind the mask he wears. He hurts, I can feel it, and it hurts me to see it.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

He looks down, takes my hand and squeezes it. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"Are you sure? Did I make you think of something bad?"

He meets my eyes again. "Not bad. More like sad. Most of my students are dead." He says it flatly, not trying to protect me from it at all. He must be thinking of the red-headed guy in the picture.

"I know. I'm sorry." He looks up at me. "Amanda told me about your student. I'm sorry."

"Thanks. I appreciate that," he says softly.

"I can imagine how hard it must have been." I don't really know what happened, but whatever it was, I'm sure it was terrible. "I know how much Amanda misses Rebecca. And I can't even stand the idea that I might lose Amanda someday." I really can't, just thinking about it hurts, and my throat gets tight again.

"Don't start, Michelle. If you do, then I will too, and won't we look silly sitting on this bench in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower sobbing our eyes out in the middle of the afternoon?"

I can't even imagine Duncan sobbing, and the idea makes me smile.

"That's better," he says. "That's her sword, isn't it?"

I nod. "Amanda gave it to me, before I went to school."

He looks off in the distance, smiling. "She was truly a great lady."

"That's what Amanda said. I wish I'd known her." I feel sad that I missed the chance. "I've seen some pictures, but it's not the same."

"No, it's not." He seems like he's thinking about something. "Have you ever been down to Sainte Anne's, to the old cloister?"

I shake my head. "No, where is it?"

"Not too far. Normandy. It's a beautiful part of the country. Tell you what. It's been ages since I got out of the city...d'you have any plans tomorrow?"

A slow smile starts to spread across my face. "Nope, why?"

"Why don't we take a drive down there, I'll show you Rebecca's old place?"

My face lights up. "I'd like that. You don't think Amanda will mind, do you?"

"No, I don't think so at all. She's welcome to come with us, if she'd like to."

"I'll ask later."

"Okay." He smiles, standing and offering me a hand. I hope mine isn't sticky from the ice cream, geez. We start walking, and I tuck my arm through his. As we walk back toward the barge, we chat a little. I tell him about school projects, and he shares some Connor stories that make me crack up laughing. Before I head back toward the club, we make plans for the next day.

"Thanks, Duncan," I tell him.

"For what?" he smiles.

For what? For being there when I needed you. For saving my life. For sending me to Amanda. For not blowing me off today, even though I deserved it. "For...everything." That isn't enough, but it'll have to do for now. Maybe tomorrow I can do better.

"The pleasure's mine," he says, kissing me on the cheek again.

Walking back to the club, my heart feels much lighter than it did on the way. I'm really looking forward to tomorrow. Maybe seeing Rebecca's place will make me feel I know her just a little better. And Duncan. I'm so glad that he doesn't hate me or think I'm just an annoying twit. He treats me like an adult, and we can be friends, and that's plenty. Maybe even better than being lovers.

Well, not really. But that sounds pretty good, doesn't it?

~ end ~

First posted September 20, 1999.


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